


Kindred Spirits

by The_Captain



Series: The Cons of Being Dovahkiin [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, Hero Worship, Thu'um, Windhelm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 21:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Captain/pseuds/The_Captain
Summary: It's lonely being what legends are made of. Can she be blamed for seeking out the only other person in Skyrim who's anything like her?AKA - Mera indulges in a bit of hero worship, and goes to meet the Jarl of Windhelm.Could be shippy if you really want it to be.





	Kindred Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who follow Mera's story, this happens pretty early on in her timeline.  
> Enjoy!

_"They say Ulfric Stormcloak murdered the High King... with his voice! Shouted him apart!"_

Windhelm was as white as she'd heard it would be. Snow covered the whole of the city, dusting over the  stone pathways and solid roofs. Mera figured it would be miserable to live there; the paths were too narrow and everything was so grey. Even so, she had to admit the city was beautiful, in it's ancient way.

Mera walked casually, kicking up small clouds of snow with her steps. It was nice being here, being nameless. No one bowing to her as Companion or Dragonborn. All of that was miles away in Whiterun. In her chest, her heart fluttered with nerves as she approached the Palace of the Kings. It was spectacular, a true marvel. Though she prefered the wooden wonder of Dragonsreach, there was certainly something to be said about the ancient power that seemed to be held in the very stones of the palace.

Mera bit the inside of her lip, looking up at the tall doors, feeling her confidence fleeting. She pulled her sword, glancing at her reflection in the shining steel. She didn’t look too bad - smoot was smeared on her cheek from rummaging through the dragon’s ashes in Kynesgrove, but otherwise she looked fine. With a nod at the Stormcloak guard that stood alert in front of the entrance, she pushed the door open with both her hands and stepped inside.

The inside was just as beautiful as the out. Blue carpets lined the floor, with banners to match, complimenting the Stormcloak colors that were prevalent all around the city. The longtable that was customary in Nordic Jarl’s halls took up the most amount of space in the room, all leading the eye to the simple but powerful stone throne and the man who lounged in it.

Ulfric Stormcloak looked much the same as he did when Mera saw him at Helgen. Dressed in the fine clothes of a Jarl with furs to compliment the look and for warmth in the cold that filled the stone space, he was a sight to behold. Beside him stood the angriest man Mera had ever laid eyes on, which was saying quite a lot considering she regularly dealt with Vilkas. He looked more like a bear than a man. They were speaking quietly, seriously, and she figured it had to be about the war.

That was not why she was here.

Mera approached the throne with enough bravado to move her feet. She hoped it reached her face. When she was close enough to catch the Jarl’s attention, he raised his head just enough to look at her, and lifted his hand, silencing whatever it was the man beside him was saying.

“I remember you,” his voice was smooth, powerful, low. His eyes were hard. “You were at Helgen.”

That startled her. She hadn’t expected him to remember. With all the blood and the fire, she hadn’t thought it likely that anyone was likely to remember her face. Then again, Mera still remembered each and every detail of that day, like it was burned into the back of her mind. Maybe it haunted him, too.

“I’m impressed you survived. Not many did. Have you come to join the rebellion? We could use every man we can get,” Ulfric continued, shifting so he was sitting up and leaning forward slightly in his throne.

He looked older than he did at Helgen. Maybe it was just his eyes. Mera opened her mouth which suddenly felt too dry to even speak, but she managed. “I’m not here to join the rebellion.”

Ulfric frowned, the action creating lines on his face that aged him. He settled back. “Ashame. Speak to Galmar should you change your mind,” he gestured with his hand to the man who still stood at attention to Ulfric’s left. Galmar hadn’t stopped staring at her since she’d walk in, a glare firmly on his face. She could understand that. A stranger approaching a Jarl is always cause for concern.

“So, what does bring you to me?” Ulfric asked, pulling her attention back to him.

Her eyes flickered across his face, searching for any sign that her question would be poorly received. Her head felt light. Since when did she have stage fright? “I’ve heard… they say you shouted High King Torygg apart. Is it true?” She managed, and Ulfric closed his eyes. She realized this must be a question that he was frequently asked, and she felt bad being one to make him repeat his answer, but she needed to know.

“Not entirely true. Though not entirely false, either. Any Nord can learn the Way of the Voice by studying with the Greybeards, given enough ambition and dedication. My shouting Toryyg to the ground proved he had neither. However, it was my sword piercing his heart that killed him." He spoke with elegance that had her leaning in. Mera shook herself, moving to stand up straight.

“You studied with the Greybeards?” She couldn’t help but ask.

Galmar huffed, clearly annoyed with the line of questioning, more visibly so than the Jarl, who simply sighed. “Yes, I did. As a young boy, I studied with the Greybeards for nearly ten years up until the Great War pulled me away. My duty was to my country and my people, I could not sit idly on a mountain and let people die at the hands of the elves.”

She nearly laughed when he spoke. He really could shout, and the whole of Skyrim knew it. A knot in her stomach loosened at his words. Yes, he trained, diligently so, with the Greybeards to earn the ability, but he was still a normal human being, not some monk who lived up on a mountain, so far removed from reality.

“What’s so funny?” Galmar demanded, the hostility plain in his voice. Ulfric looked less hot than his apparent second in command, but equally as annoyed at the smile that had broken out across her face without her realizing. She quickly wiped it off her expression, eyes going wide.

“I apologize. I, well I…” What could she say? Hi, I’m the Dragonborn. I can shout to! She shook her head, mouth opening and closing, and she could see the impatience rising in Ulfric as he shifted forward again, ready to dismiss her.

She turned, away from any people who were nearby and fixed her feet onto the floor, leaning forward to counter the shout. “ _Fus!_ ” she shouted, watching the weakened version of her two words knock air out of the way and ruffle the banners hanging. She turned back to face the Jarl, eyes wide and breathing heavily. She still wasn’t quite used to the sheer amount of _power_ that came with shouting.

At the throne, Galmar stood in front of Ulfric, eyes wide and hand on his sword, ready to draw, but her eyes went right past him.

Ulfric was standing now, and a hint of emotion passed through the stoic face. Conflict, fear, awe. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper, “Dragonborn.”

Mera straightened, feeling more powerful, stronger than she had when she entered. Nothing could touch her. “That is what the Greybeards call me.”

“You’re who they summoned,” Galmar said, sounding just as awestruck as the common guards of Whiterun had been. She supposed any true Nord would be.

“I am.”

“The return of the dragons…” Ulfric started, before speaking more firmly. “What brings you to my hall, Dragonborn?”

She opened her mouth, before closing it to think on her words. The truth? The knowledge she held made her feel different. She woke up on the cart not knowing who she was, where she was, or anything about the world she had been so cruelly dropped in. To be separated and held up as some kind of hero of old when she couldn’t remember past a month was… lonesome. She felt it creep up on her in her when she laid in bed, eyes wide opened as she struggled to remember anything, but could only feel the power that stirred inside of her.

“I wanted to see if it was true. If there was someone off the mountain who could shout.” the ‘like me’ was silent, but implied. Mera felt so young when Ulfric, the Jarl, war veteran and rebel leader looked down at her with those hard eyes. Vulnerable.

“I see,” he said, glancing to Galmar before stepping down from his high throne with calculated, smooth steps. He continued until he stood mere feet apart from her, and she had to incline her head slightly to keep her eyes focused on him. When he came to a stop, she couldn’t help but hold her breath. “Well,” he bowed his head lowly, a sign of respect that shocked her. “It is an honor to have you in my hall, Dragonborn. I welcome you to Windhelm, and should you stay until tomorrow, I would offer you a bed here in the Palace of the Kings.”

A blush crawled up Mera’s neck and into her cheeks at his offer. This was more respect that she’d received in all her memory, and she’d be lying if it wasn’t nice. It took more effort than she would like to admit to keep the stutter out of her voice. “I request that my status stays within these walls, for now, but I graciously accept your offer, Jarl Ulfric.” She bowed her head to him as well, attempting to show how mutual the respect was.

“I must return to my war council, but I believe we have much to discuss. Join me tonight at my table?” The offer had her smiling.

“I would like that.”

Ulfric nodded at her, and turned to follow Galmar into the war room. “Tonight then, Dragonborn.”

“Tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> To be clear, this is absolutely not a ship thing. Mera just looks up to Ulfric, she does not have a crush on him. 
> 
> Anyway, my Dragonborns always end up seeking out Ulfric at some point, just to meet someone who's like them. 
> 
> I might add more to this if the inspiration strikes, but this will probably just be a one shot. 
> 
> Please comment! And if you like Mera, feel free to check out my other stories about her.


End file.
